Beneath the Underneath
by s c a r e c r o w e s
Summary: One stands upon the edge of a knife, the other has a secret that could bring them closer. Hurtcomfort, KakashiIruka Yaoi warning if you don't like mm pairings please do not read Bad at summaries


Warnings and Disclaimers. to my own misfortune I own nothing. The people, names, dates, times, places and organizations are all property of the creator of Naruto, Masashi Kishimoto. Not even the dog that howls belongs to me. I borrowed that too. For all you know or I know it could be Pakkun. So please don't sue me I have no money and even if i did have money it certianly doesn't come from Naruto.

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An icy wind blew through the quiet village, the streets deserted of people as the night had reached its peak before it would begin its journey to day. A crisp autumn night devoid of clouds as each star tried to outshine the glory of the full moon. Some where the serenity was interrupted by a dog howl, it eerie timbre breaking the silence.

Children were nestled safely in their beds, while dreams of future glories and adventure graced them. Adults dreamed of peace and blessings as another night progressed in a state of quiet. The days were filled with enough tension and rumor to spend what time they had in slumber to dream of battle.

He watched them with a keen eye, and searched beyond with a gift. He did this of his own accord. For as peaceful as the village had come to be this night, he would not find rest amidst the ghosts of the past and the shame of his mistakes. Moving from roof top to roof top, his lithe figure scaled the buildings effortlessly, berating himself inwardly with each step. Murderer. Liar. Failure. Coward.

In silence, he like the chosen few, guarded when needed, acted without hesitation, and killed at the will of their masters. Silent wraiths in masks, leaving nothing behind, no proof of existence. Death was their companion, whether their own or their enemies, they like the night belonged to a time of silence and mourning. Shut away from the light with no solace or promise of life to guide them, as they guided those who sought to bring harm to their ends.

He had returned to them, as swiftly as a wolf returning to its pack. For the village. For the boy who left to train with someone more capable, the girl whose talent he ignored in favor of another and the dark haired youth he failed. No this was not for him, it was just a way to deal. to move on. It was not a question of when or why, but a matter of duty. His masters had called, and like the loyal dog he was he came. Already stained with years of blood that no amount of water could wash clean, he had found it easy to slide back into this life as if he had never left. Bright smiles and indignant cried of three unruly pupils no longer graced his ears. Now it was nothing more than blade on flesh, cries of pain and the stench of death.

He had tried to be more than he had become. He had chanced a life in the light. Still under the ownership of the village he served, but somehow with the three of them it had felt different. A face, though still hidden behind a mask, had chanced to be seen. He laughed more, felt more and somehow the smiles didn't seem so forced. And although he feigned indifference and and acted aloof, he had come to care for the three of them. And still he had failed. What made him think he had what it took to make innocent Genin into hardened Jounin. What made he believe he had the right to teach them to survive, when his own survival was a farce.

A flash of white hair, a charming yet stern smile, a hand that once guided him on the path before him, had in a moment changed him from a bright genius child to the isolated and unrelenting killer he would become. A path he had not thought to take until he had put the first mask he would ever where upon his face. A face he loathed and feared, his own yes, but so like his father he paid the price of those sins as if they were his own. But was that not how the saying went, "the sins of the father shall be visited upon the son". This was his fate, his destiny. Just as his father had made choices, he had made his own.

Death. Darkness. Solitude. Killer. Weapon. This was what he was. This was where he belonged. Leave the day to those who still lived. The night belonged to those who walked closely with death.

Hatake Kakashi was Anbu once more.


End file.
